


Buttons

by Ignaz Wisdom (ignaz)



Category: American Idol RPF
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-12
Updated: 2010-12-12
Packaged: 2017-11-23 01:53:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/616767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ignaz/pseuds/Ignaz%20Wisdom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A million years ago, someone gave me the prompt: <em>Simon and Ryan, with Ryan trying to get Simon to 'branch out'.</em> I fucked it all up for ya:</p>
            </blockquote>





	Buttons

"All I'm asking," Ryan said, his words measured and tense, "is that you just ... try it ... _once_."

" _No_ ," Simon said for at least the tenth time that day.

"I understand," Ryan said, placating. "You're old, you're set in your ways—"

Simon pulled him close, the better to smack him soundly on the backside.

"Ow," said Ryan, swatting back. "If you loved me—"

Simon laughed. Giggled, if one were being particular. " _No_."

Ryan sighed. He crossed his arms over his chest, a move that incidentally displayed his musculature quite well, which tended to work in his favor during arguments with Simon. Ryan turned around, picked up the subject of the debate, held it up to himself, and looked hopefully at Simon, who shook his head.

"It's black," Ryan said. "You like black. It's too small. You _like_ too small."

"It's a dress shirt."

Ryan gave him an exasperated look. Then he gave the shirt an exasperated look. "It's a shirt with buttons."

"Is this a black tie event?"

"It's dinner. It's a _shirt_."

"Ryan."

"Simon. You cannot meet my grandmother wearing an undershirt that comes in three-packs from Wal-Mart."

Something must have crept through in his voice—it was probably desperation, but Ryan liked to think it was authority—because Simon finally shut up and stopped looking at him that way, like a child Ryan was trying to force-feed vegetables. He took the shirt from Ryan's hands and examined it with a sour expression.

" _Only_ ," Simon said, "because I have the greatest respect for my elders …"

Ryan held his breath and did not make a joke about Simon's age.

"… I'll wear it. For your grandmother. _Once_."

Ryan heaved a sigh of relief. "Thank you."

"But you'll have to make it up to me."

Ryan grinned. "I look forward to it." 

"You know, you are _incredibly_ irritating." The complaint was softened by the fact that Simon had taken Ryan by the hand and was tugging him into his lap—as well as by the fact that Simon had been saying it for years, literally since they day they first met.

"I call it persistence," Ryan managed to say before Simon took his mouth in a kiss that was too sweet to be punishing.

"Irritating," Simon repeated and bit him gently but firmly on the shoulder.

"Whatever," Ryan said, fingers knotted in Simon's hair, dragging him back up for another kiss. "I _own_ your ass."

"In your dreams."

"Admit it: you're a total pushover when it comes to me."

Simon responded by pushing _Ryan_ over, onto his back on their bed, flattening half a dozen other rejected shirts under their combined weight. Ryan huffed a laugh. "I'm in charge. I've got you wrapped around my little— _uh_ ," he stopped, as Simon's hand wrapped around something not so little and growing rapidly.

Simon whispered, "What were you saying?"

Ryan stared him down, gauging how far he could press this. "Nothing."

"I thought so."

Smug bastard. "Someday," Ryan said, "we're going to talk about that _hair_ —"

"Shut up," Simon said, and for the next while they didn't talk about anything at all.


End file.
